Snow White Queen
by The Penguin Ate My Homework
Summary: On the morning of her Ball, Victoria lay in her den and trembled. One-shot inspired by the Evanescence song.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Cats.**

**Snow White Queen**

**Part I**

_You belong to me  
My snow white queen  
There's nowhere to run  
So let's just get it over  
Soon, I know, you'll see  
You're just like me  
Don't scream anymore, my love  
'__Cause all I want is you  
-"Snow White Queen" by Evanescence_

On the morning of her Ball, Victoria lay in her den and trembled.

A hot paw ran up her thigh, groping and grasping, running its fingers through her fur and digging in to the skin below. Another paw rested itself on her stomach, uninvited and unwanted. A body pressed up against hers, hard with muscles and trembling like her—but this was eagerness and desire that made the tom shake.

Her mouth was glued shut. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't scream. She couldn't scream!

Her eyes snapped open, and she woke.

For a long while, she didn't move, sobbing silently and letting the tears drip down her face. Her claws came out and dug into the dirt floor beneath her, gouging out holes. She was quiet—she didn't dare make noise and attract attention. Too much noise would bring other Cats in to see why she was crying, and if _he_ saw other Cats by her den, he would come for her that much sooner.

So she muffled her cries in the blankets that served as a pillow for her, hoping and praying that they would go unnoticed.

For once, her prayers were answered. No Cats came to see her, which was a surprise. She had expected that, on the day she was to officially become a queen and take a Mate, the entire Tribe would show up at her door to congratulate her. But none came. Perhaps they were all with _him_.

But her luck wouldn't go on forever. Victoria stood, grabbing at the towel she kept in a corner for instances like this. It had dried a thousand tears that went unseen by the world, and adding a few more wouldn't hurt. She brushed off her coat once she was sure her face was dry, removing any trace of dirt from sleeping on the floor.

Finally she exited the den, blinking in the bright light. It was hotter than she had expected, more intense than she could have guessed from within the shady den. Briefly she played with the idea of retreating back into it, escaping the heat—but that would only make _him_ suspicious, and she never liked him when he was suspicious.

A mass of fur came barreling around the corner at that moment: all of her kitten-friends. Jemima was in the lead, which she had expected, but Etcetera and Electra were hot on her heels. Pouncival and Tumblebrutus followed closely after, not as eager as the queen-kits were to see Victoria, but not willing to be left on their own either. They converged on her in a squealing pile, each of them reaching out with their paws to touch her briefly on her arms, shoulders, paws in greeting.

The touch of another Cat reminded her sickeningly of the dream and of _him_, so she pulled away with a shudder, smiling and making the excuse of nerves for her strange behavior.

They bought it easily enough, all but Jemima—but then, the little black and scarlet kitten had always been too wise and perceptive for her own good. Etcetera giggled and told her how lucky she was, Electra told her that she couldn't wait until her own Ball, Tumblebrutus and Pouncival told her just how much they envied the tom that was to be her Mate—but Jemima watched her silently and said nothing.

After a while they left, bored of this standing around and discouraged by Victoria's less-than-enthusiastic attitude. Etcetera ran off squealing, with Electra in pursuit and the tom-kittens only inches behind her. Jemima stayed. Jemima watched her and thought while Victoria stood and worried.

"How is Plato?" the little kitten finally asked, breaking the silence and sending Victoria snapping back into the present. The question was almost enough to send the white queen-kitten—almost queen now—into tears again, but she pushed them back and ignored the heat in her eyes.

"Oh, he's happy," she answered, and it was an honest answer. The tall tom had never been happier in his life, now that he was about to get the object of his obsessions. And she was trapped. He knew it.

"How are _you_?" Jemima asked now, still under the guise of polite conversation but coming close to breaking that mask.

"I'm…fine," Victoria answered after a minute of silence. She didn't even fool herself. "Nervous," she said now, and that was closer to the truth. She was terrified of what might come that night.

"Just nervous?" Victoria cursed the kitten for her intrusiveness.

"Just nervous," she confirmed, silently willing Jemima to drop it—and it worked. The black and scarlet kitten frowned but turned away, beginning to walk back towards the clearing in the center of the Junkyard. She was expecting Victoria to follow her, it was obvious; but the white Cat stayed where she was. After a few steps, Jemima turned to stare at her.

"Are you coming?" she said finally, worry obvious in her eyes. Poor Jemima, poor little Jemima with her naïve and optimistic outlook on life, sure that every hurt could be healed so simply. Poor little Jemima, suddenly finding that her best friend in the world was shutting her out slowly and would soon be lost forever.

Victoria hated herself for that, but she had no choice. Plato had trapped her, and trying to run from him would only make things worse. Would he become like Macavity, scorned and hated until he was driven insane, if she left now? And Jemima would only get in the way and hurt herself if she knew.

"No…I don't think I can go there yet," she whispered. Jemima understood. And the two sat there for the rest of the day, Victoria dreading the moment when she would have to go to the Ball and dance with her future Mate.

--

**Part II**

A hurricane of colors whirled around Victoria, and she was lost in the storm.

A flash of scarlet went by—but was it Bombalurina, or Jemima? Black and white—Mistoffelees? Alonzo? A paw touched her back, sliding across her shoulders, and she shivered. But the cat wasn't there when she turned around.

Then, suddenly, she was alone. The white queen blinked in surprise, standing awkwardly in the center of the tribe as the others lay down around her. She wished fervently to join them, but she knew that it was her time now.

Plato moved to join her, and she shied away. His eyes were on her, hungry and greedy, and she hesitated—if she refused him now, what would happen?

She'd seen what he was capable of, seen what toms were capable of. She'd heard of how Bombalurina had scorned Macavity in their youth, and how the ginger tom had turned his fury on Demeter instead—hurting the queen he loved by going after her sister. And eventually revenge had turned into something more—not love, _that_ could never be called love—but _something_, something that made Macavity pursue Demeter again and again and again.

And Bomba hurt all the more for it, because she knew it was all her fault.

Other cats told her it wasn't, but Bomba knew, and Victoria knew. Other cats told the scarlet queen that she couldn't know what Macavity was capable of, but Bomba knew, and Victoria knew, that the signs had been there all along.

What would they say if Victoria refused Plato, and he turned his attention elsewhere?

Everyone would know it was her fault. And they would never be able to convince her otherwise.

She let Plato rub his body along hers, and stood there as he dragged his paws down her back. She cooperated when he went to lift her, mentally screaming at the feel of his paws on her waist.

_No!_ her mind screamed to her. _This is not right! This is not the one I want!_

But it was better this way. She would be the only one to suffer this way, and after all, wasn't it her fault? If she had not encouraged him.

But she had loved him then! He was older, and handsome, and strong, and kind, and everything a queen could possibly want in a tom! So she hadn't loved him. She was only a kitten, she was only flirting and reveling in the attention he gave her!

Her leg trembled as he ran a paw down it. This was exactly like her nightmare, with one crucial difference.

She wasn't going to wake up this time.

Plato went to lower her and she instinctively balanced herself, molding her body around his to keep from falling. But perhaps being dropped wouldn't be so bad, if it meant a moment's reprieve from his touch.

Skimbleshanks came up to her as Plato lowered her. She exchanged scents briefly with her surrogate father, and he was confused—why was her scent drenched in fear? Then she was away, and then she was laying across him. Plato grasped her chest and scraped his fingers down her ribs. She suppressed a gasp of horror.

It would be no good. She had better just get used to it now.

The tribe gathered in around her. She ignored them.

Bombalurina touched her shoulder, caught her eye. Victoria saw the haunted look there, and she knew.

Bomba knew. Bomba understood.

And Victoria knew she was making the right decision.

--

**A/N:** Short, I know, and is it obvious I wrote the two parts very far apart?

Not entirely sure how I feel about this piece, but here it is.

I don't like writing Victoria much, but I seem to do it a lot.

I might expand on Bomba's part in this sometime, but it may not be anytime soon.


End file.
